The Dream
by Calico
Summary: Part of the ‘Broken’ series. Bruce’s hopes for a normal life for his family are hindered by nightmares from his past. Incorporates ‘Return of the Joker’.


Title:  'The Dream'

Author:  Calico calico321@yahoo.com

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Part of the 'Broken' series.  Bruce's hopes for a normal life for his family are hindered by nightmares from his past.  Incorporates 'Return of the Joker'. 

            The dream started right after they were married.  The first time he had it, he'd sat up in bed gasping and trembling, mumbling the word 'no' over and over, but she calmly, if drowsily, comforted him.  No stranger to his nocturnal torments, she'd simply assumed he'd dreamt about his parents again.  He never told her what it was really about.

            In the dream she is about eight months along and quite visibly pregnant, even though she hadn't even begun to show in reality.  He'd read that expectant women obtained a certain glow and that husbands often found them even more beautiful during that time.  Maybe that had left some kind of impression on his subconscious, because in the dream he can't take his eyes off her, thinking she is about the loveliest thing he's ever seen.

            They're walking down a nameless street, usually after attending some theatrical event or the opera, which was strange by itself because she hated the opera.  But in the dream she is going on and on about how wonderful it was, hands gesturing and face smiling and all he can do is watch her and feel the power of his love.  She distracts him and in the back of his mind he knows this, but that never stops him from being enthralled by her every movement and word, and then in the blink of an eye they find themselves corralled into an alley by a man with a knife.  A few times after waking he'd think that the man had been the same mugger from their first date, but not always.

            Standing in the alley the man does the typical thug spiel, "Give me everything.  Your money, jewelry, everything!" and he waves his weapon about like it was a magic wand that could get him anything his heart desired.

            She looks up at him.  "Bruce?" she questions timidly, a hand resting on her bulbous stomach.  "The baby's kicking."

            "Make it stop!" the mugger sneers at her.

            "I can't," she replies.  "She's going to be just like her father."

            Then the man lunges at her and Bruce is spurned into action.  He grabs her arm and pulls her safely out of the way.  "Don't do that old man!" the mugger shouts as he turns to face them again.  "I'll show you what happens to bad little boys!"

            It's at that instant he turns his head, actually sees the alley, remembers it from so many visits, so many roses.  _What on earth are we even doing in this part of town?_ he asks himself with a horrible sense of déjà vu.  On the ground amidst the unwanted trash he can see the blood silhouettes that had once been his parents.  "Please, not again," he finds himself begging in a child's whisper, but it's too late, always too late.  The man swings in a wide arc and he's paralyzed with the helpless realization that history is repeating itself, only with a blade instead of bullets.

            Her piercing scream fills the night and he grabs her just as she is about to hit the ground.  There is the sound of running feet as the coward flees and he stands to pursue.  "Don't leave me," she gasps, holding one hand towards him and for one long, terrible second he actually pauses in indecision.  Then he drops to her side and gathers her up in his arms.

            "Don't die, you can't die, not here," he says while stroking her head.  The wound in her side is gushing blood and he places his hand over it ineffectually.

            "It's alright," she says lightly.  "I thought it would be better this way."

            "No!  Don't you die, Mardi!  I won't allow it!" he says, suddenly full of rage at her words.  How dare she defy him?  Didn't she know that no one defies Batman?

            Then she coughs and the blood trickles down her chin.  "You know you don't have the heart for it.  If you did, you'd have done it a long time ago.  But that's okay.  We all make mistakes."  She coughs again, just once, and then she's still.  Dead, along with their unborn child.

            "Noooo!" he screams, full of anger so fresh and yet so familiar.  He jumps to his feet, hands clenched and ready to fight, turning to run out after the man who murdered his wife, but he's suddenly stopped by an excruciating pain in his chest and falls back to his knees, clutching his left arm.  "No," he wheezes.  "Not now!"

            Out of nowhere a shiny pointed-toe black shoe appears in his field of vision.  The attached leg is clad in a garish purple pant.  "Come, come Brucie," a voice full of mirth and menace cackles at him from above.  "You didn't really think you could have it both ways did you?  You _had_ your family and what did you do with it?  You don't get two lifetimes, Brucie, no one does.  Ahahahaha!"   The laughter causes his blood to boil, which only increases his physical agony.  The fiend's voice drops low and threateningly.  "I took it all away, Brucie, and I'll do it again.  Even from the grave, I'll do it again."

            The clown's hideous laughter followed him from his dream just as it had every night since returning from Metropolis over a week before.  He awoke drenched in sweat, heart pounding, but kept the cry silent in his throat.  She was there next to him, sleeping soundly, and he stayed awake the rest of the night just watching her in the moonlight wondering if he did deserve a second chance, or was he tempting fate?

            As they settled into the routine of married life the dream eventually faded, though it did haunt him one other time shortly after Isabella was born.  He had dozed off while rocking her to sleep and it unfolded just as before, only this time instead of mocking him the Joker stepped over to Mardi and, using the largest knife he'd ever seen, sliced her up the middle like a demented surgeon, removing the child from his wife's corpse.  Held aloft by one foot, he dangled the pale, blood-streaked baby in front of Bruce and taunted, "You always have a few spare kids hanging around!  You don't mind if I borrow this one too, do you?  Ahahahahaha!"

            He leapt out of the chair as he woke up and quickly put the infant back into her crib before rushing to the bathroom just in time.  He stared numbly into his own reflection in the mirror as the remains of his lunch were flushed away reassuring himself that the Joker was gone, all of the rogues were gone, dead or locked up for good.  That part of his life was over.  He would never put them in danger.  They were a family now, a normal family, separate from his past and he would do anything to keep it that way.

            Bruce Wayne had completely forgotten about the dream by the time Terry McGinnis stumbled onto his secret and of course the draw to reenter the life of Batman was too strong to do anything else but revisit his old ways.  It was an complication in his marriage to say the least, but he simply reminded himself of all the good they did every night, all the evil in Gotham they put a stop to.  That was just too important to ignore.  Besides, it wasn't as if his family was in any actual danger.

            The year passed quickly and villains came and went – Inque, Shriek, Blight, The Royal Flush Gang – all dispatched by the new Dark Knight.  Mardi had loosened up to an extent, though her announcement of the pregnancy threw them both for a loop, but as with everything else they quickly acclimated themselves to the idea.  Isabella trained, or at least pretended to while not so secretly watching Terry, often begging for her own chance to be a crime fighter.  It never occurred to him that he should be bothered by that fact.

            And by the time Paxton Powers was jailed and subsequently removed from his seat on the Wayne-Powers board due to shady practices and his involvement in the attempt to murder Bruce, all seemed to be about perfect, if there could be such a word in Batman's world.

            He was ready to take over his family's company again now that it could actually stay in his family.  Terry accompanied him to the reception since the pregnancy was taking its toll on Mardi and she had decided to stay at home.  All was going well until…until…

            Bruce couldn't believe what he was seeing.  That smile, those eyes, that laugh, it couldn't be anyone else.  The Joker looked at him and he felt the fear grip his heart.  "Your old eyes do not deceive you, Brucie, after all who would know me better than you?"  With all the time that had passed, how could he exist, looking the same, sounding the same?  And he knew who he was, who he _really_ was.  "I hear you actually got yourself hitched with a little whippersnapper!" the Joker cackled.  "Imagine that, _you_ a family man!  After all we know what happened to your last family!  Ahahahaha!  Can't wait to meet them!  Do give your wife a kiss for me.  Oh on second thought, don't worry – I'll do it myself!  Ahahahaha!"

            Terry drove home, chatting nervously, absorbed in his own perceived failure and completely unable to comprehend just how dangerous this turn of events actually was.  The next day Bruce came to the decision. He couldn't help himself, he had to get control of the situation.  He couldn't let another innocent life be lost to the Joker's madness.  So without any compunction he dismissed the boy, did whatever he could to keep him safe.  Then came the hard part.

            Upstairs he pulled out a suitcase and began throwing her clothes inside.  "Just what are you doing?" she asked him from the doorway.  "Are we going somewhere?"

            "I'm not.  You and Isabella are," he replied tersely as she walked over and removed a dress from his hands.

            "I haven't been able to wear this in months.  Perhaps you've been too busy to notice my figure has pretty much gone to pot?"  He frowned at her.  "Why don't you tell me what's going on."

            "You have to leave town.  Tonight."

            "Does this have something to do with that freak at your party last night?"

            "It has everything to do with him."

            "He's dangerous?"

            "More dangerous than you could possibly imagine."

            "Then we'll all go, the three of us."

            "No.  This is something I have to deal with, but I'm doing it alone."  He paused, not wanting to hear the words out loud.  "He threatened you.  He wants to get to me and the easiest way would be through the two of you."

            "You can't just expect me to turn my back on you."

            "I need to be assured of your safety.  I can take care of myself, but I can't protect you at the same time.  This is my problem and for once you're going to do as I say without question."

            "I'm not one of your lackeys, Bruce," she said quietly.

            He put his hand against her head.  "I know, but right now the only thing I care about is keeping the two of you," he looked down to her bulging midsection and corrected himself, "the three of you safe.  I'll do that any way I have to, with or without your cooperation."

            "Dad?"  He looked over to see Isabella standing at the door.  "I'm all packed.  Where are we going?"

            He looked back at Mardi.  "You have an hour to catch your plane so I suggest you hurry and get together whatever you need.  I'll be calling the pilot with instructions once you're in the air."

            "You're scaring me," she whispered.

            "Good.  Now get moving."

            He was alone in the house later that evening, alone in the entire world as far as he was concerned.  He worked quickly at the anti-toxin.  He had to be prepared, always be prepared.  Then there was a sound from the house above.  Ace immediately ran up to investigate, suddenly crying out in pain.  His senses were on alert, but it didn't matter.  The small JokerBombs danced cheerfully down the stone cave steps before exploding in a cloud of green smoke that caused him to choke and lose his balance, his head reeling from the gas.  And then he heard it.  "Don't get up Bruce, it's just an old friend come by to say hello," remarked a quiet but deadly voice as the lanky figure descended into the noxious fog.

            Bruce fought to breath, fought the effects of the fumes, then the one once dubbed the Clown Prince of Crime was on him, throwing him against the table.  "Hello _Batman_."  He laughed evilly, bending down close.  "So where's the little woman and your accursed offspring?  I so wanted to introduce myself."

            "Where you'll never find them," he groaned as the pain in his back seared up and down.  Despite himself the laughter had already started, the gas forcing the unnatural smile to his lips.

            With a large sledgehammer the Joker made fast work of the glass cases.  "That's okay," he said brightly smashing one after another.  "I just _love _treasure hunts!  And do you know what I'm going to do once I get my mitts on them, Batsy?  It's going to make what I did to Robin look like child's play!"  Again and again the hammer found its mark.  Finally he was done with his evil handiwork and came back to Bruce.  "You've got a lot to atone for old man.  You'll be begging me for mercy with your last breath.  Or should I say your last laugh?  Hahahaha!"  The laughter sang him into the lonely darkness like a demon's lullaby.

            He remembered Terry showing up and managing to tell him about the anti-toxin then it all went blank.  Eventually he surfaced enough to dream and he was once again in the alley holding Mardi in his arms as she died and the Joker's laughter chased the sleep away.  Only this time it wasn't just the Joker – Tim was there too, a miniature version of the monster, laughing insanely and pointing an accusatory finger, as if saying this is all he deserved: pain and loss.

            His head throbbed, but he pulled himself into a sitting position and picked up the phone.  Connecting via the Batcomputer, he placed a secure call, dialing a long series of numbers.  It was answered by a computer aboard an orbiting satellite, a satellite leased to the government by WayneTech.  The signal was then bounced out to a floating space station that was not claimed by any nation on earth.

            "Yes?" a gruff female voice answered.

            "Let me talk to Superman," he commanded.

            "Who is this?"

            "Just put him on the line," he growled.

            It took a few minutes, but the familiar voice eventually greeted him, "Hello?"

            "It's me.  How is everything?"

            "Bruce!" his old friend said with obvious relief.  "We were worried about you."

            "I'm fine.  How are they?"

            "Good as can be expected."

            "How did Mardi take the news?"

            "That I'm Superman?  She hit me and called me a lying son of a, well you get the picture," he replied sadly.

            Bruce didn't bother to hold back the smirk.  "That's my girl."

            "Don't get too smug.  You should have heard the things she called you."

            "Nothing new I'm sure."

            "Isabella's grown into quite the little lady.  She and Aquagirl have taken a shine to each other.  Apparently Marina knows sign language.  They've been swimming in her practice tank and chatting for hours."

            "Good for her."

            "Would you like to speak with them?" the Man of Steel asked diplomatically.

            "No, I don't think that would be a good idea right now," Batman responded on the outside, but inside Bruce ached just a little.

            The small talk aside, Kal-el said seriously, "So it really is the Joker?"

            "Yes.  He attacked me here, in my own home, last night."

            "If you need my help I'll – "

            "No," Bruce cut him off.  "This is my business.  I just want you to make sure nothing happens to them.  No matter what."

            "I understand.  And you have my word, they'll be safe."

            "Thank you Clark," he replied in relief.

            "You know, no one calls me Clark anymore."

            "I know.  Goodbye Clark."  He hung up.

            Now it was time to do something, to end it once and for all.  He went downstairs and found Terry sitting at his command center talking to Ace.  "If I was the Batman I was supposed to be I would have cracked this by now.  I would have punched in exactly the right data into the computer or remembered that one little clue that everyone else overlooked."

            "It's rarely that simple."

            The boy had won.  He'd actually defeated the Joker on his own terms, used every skill Bruce had taught him and a few he'd picked up on his own.  While Bruce had never actually regretted the decision to train McGinnis, for the first time he'd felt an overwhelming sense that he really was the next Batman, that he would take the mantle as far as he was willing to go and then even further.  Terry had proven his mettle and had truly earned the title in every way.

            In the greater scope of things, that also made Bruce feel a little less culpable in placing another boy in jeopardy.  The guilt would never truly be washed from his soul, but in a Machiavellian sort of way that he wasn't even consciously aware of, the ends certainly justified the means.  And he could live with that.

            At the hospital he tried his best to express the joy and pride he felt in Terry's accomplishment, but more importantly he expressed, maybe for the first time, that the boy was his true successor and not simply another tool that Bruce used to stay in the game.  No, he wouldn't fool himself that in allowing Terry to continue to wear the suit he wasn't trying to recapture that which time had robbed from him, but now it was all about the future and what would come after he was gone.  Tonight Terry had proved he was more than up to the task.

            Once McGinnis had left to check on Dana before heading out to patrol, Bruce went in to see Tim, for the first time in years.  It still hurt, the picture of young Tim dressed as a gruesome clone of the Joker and laughing that nightmare laugh would haunt his eternity, but now it felt good to see him as a grown man, finally rid of the evil that had infected him so long ago.

            "Hello old man," he greeted Bruce with a smile that said all was forgiven, or at least he hoped.

            Barb made a little small talk before excusing herself to give them some privacy.  Bruce sat on the edge of the hospital bed and smiled slightly.  "How are you feeling?"

            "Like I've just had a monkey removed from my back, a very nasty monkey."

            "I'm sorry, Tim," he said softly.  "We should have caught that."

            "It's alright, you couldn't have known.  No matter how hard we tried we could never fully understand how much he was capable of."  Bruce nodded though it didn't help.  If he hadn't been so desperate to push Tim away from the life, maybe he could have discovered the chip before it was too late.  Then again if he had never brought him in at all none of it would have happened.  As if reading his mind Tim said, "Just let it go.  We all make mistakes and this was just as much mine as yours.  It never occurred to me _not_ to do it.  You never hoisted that suit on me."

            Bruce looked down at his hands, hands that just five months ago had been young again, but were now old, just like the rest of him.

            "So," Tim said out loud to break the tense silence that had settled around them.  "What's this I hear about a wife?"  Bruce was certain Barbara had kept him fully abreast of his home life.  He just nodded.  "And a daughter?  There's some poetic justice in that don't you think?" and he laughed a soft easy laugh.

            "With another on the way," Bruce supplied and Tim only laughed harder.

            "Making up for lost time?" he asked and put a friendly hand on Bruce's arm.  "You never did things halfway."  He grew serious again.  "Doesn't it make things hard, now that you've started up the old business, I mean?"

            "Yes.  And no."  He turned to look out the window thoughtfully.  "Life with Mardi could never be described as easy during the best of times.  I haven't decided if she's my reward or my penance."  Tim chuckled at the perceived joke.  "But she loves me," he continued.  "I have always pushed people away, always living in that one moment that created me.  She was not impressed with my money and she was never intimidated by Batman.  She saw right through me, even called me a 'broken little boy'.  For some reason she loved me, and I guess for once it felt good to let someone in."

            "Impressive."

            Bruce turned back to Tim.  "She is impressive.  And quick-tempered.  And hard-headed.  And infuriatingly glib at the most inopportune moments."

            "Sounds like quite a handful."

            "Yes, and I wouldn't have it any other way."  He thought for a moment.  "Christmas will be here in a few months.  Why don't you stop by?  Bring your wife and kids."

            "An old-fashioned family holiday?" Tim smiled at the irony.  "I'll give it some thought."

            "Do that.  You really need to meet Isabella to truly understand the poetic justice.  As a matter of fact she reminds me a lot of you."

            He got up and walked to the door signaling the end of the visit.  Tim called out from behind.  "You know Bruce, it's okay to admit you're happy.  No one will think less of you."

            He nodded and walked out.

            When he got home he found their bags in the entranceway.  Upstairs Mardi was lying down on the bed, no doubt tired from the long journey home.  He walked over and gently sat down beside her.  Her eyes opened slowly.

            "Welcome home," he said.  "How was your trip?"

            "I was in space," she replied.

            "I know."

            "I was in _outer_ space," she repeated.

            "I think we've covered that part already."

            "I was no longer _on this planet,_" she insisted and slid her legs around to sit up.

            "I'm aware of the location of the Watchtower.  I had it built."

            "Why am I surprised by this?" she asked with a far away look.  "You'd think by now these things would no longer surprise me.  And yet," she held her hands out, "color me surprised."  She refocused on him.  "You could have mentioned that your best man was earth's greatest hero."

            "You didn't even know who I was at the time," he reminded her.

            "You're telling me."  She rubbed her eyes and sighed.  "Bella was already pestering him about joining the JLU by the time we left."

            "And?"

            "I told him over his dead body."

            "You threatened the most indestructible man on the planet with death?"  He nodded in appreciation.  Then he said, "How's the baby?"

            She groaned slightly and shifted her position.  "She's just fine, it's her mother that's wiped out.  I'm not sure she enjoyed the trip though.  She's been really active."

            "You're still insisting it's going to be a girl?"

            She turned to him and ran her fingers through his hair, cooing, "Absolutely.  That's exactly what you deserve, a passel of girls to pay you back for all those broken hearts from your philandering days.  Ooh," she moaned suddenly.  "My back is killing me."  He reached down and started to gently massage it as she stretched out across his lap, using his arm as a pillow.  "This is it.  No more babies for you, Mr. Wayne," she murmured.  "No matter how much you beg, this baby factory is officially closed for business.  That is if this one isn't the death of me.  50 and pregnant.  There's a joke in that somewhere, I'm just too tired to think of it."  He smiled as she started to snore softly and reached up to gently smooth her hair back, then moved his hand down to rest on her belly.

            "I'll never let anything happen to you," he promised her.  "Ever."

The end.


End file.
